Forever Autumn
by sherlokitty'd
Summary: The War is over but Hermione has lost so much that was important to her. Scabior, however, has little important to himself. Brought together by fateful chance, can a grieving Gryffindor bookworm and a Snatcher on the run really help to heal one another? **DISCONTINUED**
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, all! I know the world and its grandmother are writing about these two but I thought I'd give it a go. I'm nervous about it but I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Please do leave a review and tell me what you think of it so far and whether or not you wish for me to continue. _

_Summary: The War is over but Hermione Granger has lost so much that was important to her. Scabior, on the other hand, has little important to himself. Brought together by fateful chance, can a grieving Gryffindor bookworm and a Snatcher on the run really help to heal one another? Literally and figuratively? Post Deathly Hallows. AU, of course. Pairing: Hermione/Scabior. Rated for future chapters. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters including Hermione and the delicious Scabior. Nor do I own the lyrics of the beautiful 'Forever Autumn' or Rihanna's great song, 'S&M' which completely reminds me of a certain Snatcher. XD _

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><p><strong>Forever Autumn :: Chapter One <strong>

"_The summer sun is fading as the year grows old  
>And darker days are drawing near<br>The winter winds will be much colder  
>Now you're not here<br>I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky  
>And one by one they disappear<br>I wish that I was flying with them  
>Now you're not here... " <em>

**Justin Hayward, "Forever Autumn" **

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><p>Thunder rumbled ominously overhead in the iron-grey sky like some great bellowing beast, but Hermione Granger took no notice of it whatsoever. A full-blown storm could have broken out around the young witch and she still wouldn't have noticed. However, the weather above was nothing compared to the turbulent thoughts that whirled through her mind right at this moment. The War may have been won, Voldemort may have been defeated... but for Hermione there was no cause for celebration...<p>

After the battle at Hogwarts, as soon as she had been able, Hermione had been desperate to journey to Australia to track down her parents in order to lift the immensely complicated Memory Charm she had placed upon them both to protect them. She had missed them terribly during their time apart, and though she knew she had done the right thing by them in keeping them safe, she still had that little nagging guilt eating away inside her that she had abandoned them in some way. Both Harry and Ron had volunteered to accompany her on this trip, which she had been touched by. It took them several long weeks to try and locate the whereabouts of "Wendell and Monica Wilkins" and it was only after much asking around that the trio wound up at a very prosperous-looking house on the outskirts of Queensland. And it was there when Hermione discovered the devastating truth... Her beloved mother and father had been killed...

According to their neighbour, they had been involved in a car accident and Hermione felt as if her whole world had been brutally ripped apart. _Fate was such a bitch_, she thought to herself over and over again. It was so horribly, tragically ironic. She had thought she had been protecting her parents; she had thought by sending them far away, it would keep them alive. Only it had done the complete opposite. Her sacrifice had been for nothing.

Already grieving for those they had lost in battle – Fred, Remus, Tonks, amongst many others – this was way too much for Hermione to bear. She had never got the chance to say goodbye to her parents properly. At this thought, she felt a great ache in her chest as if someone had reached a hand deep inside of her and squeezed at her heart. She had wanted to tell them everything that had happened to her these last few harrowing months... to tell them how badly she had missed them... How sorry she was for leaving them like she did. But they were now gone, completely oblivious to their only daughter's achievements... oblivious to the fact that they even had a daughter at all. Fate was such a bitch.

Hermione let out a laboured, shuddery sigh, her breath rising before her in a misty cloud in the early morning chill, as she thought about the events that had followed shortly afterwards. On her, Harry and Ron's return to Britain, a small private funeral had been arranged for her parents and she had become the sole beneficiary to all their worldly possessions. She could not stand to go back living in their old house – the memories were still so raw and still so painful and it did not seem right to be there without them. She had readily refused Ron's offer for her to live with him permanently at the Burrow. It wasn't because that she didn't appreciate it, but Hermione knew that Molly would fuss over her and the warm but crowded atmosphere at the Weasley family home would just remind her all the more of what she had loved and lost.

She and Ron had argued, of course. So what was new? He insisted she needed to be around friends at a time like this. But Hermione felt suffocated and she told him so, for all that she really desired at this time was to be left well alone, and why couldn't he respect her wishes. She had tried to confide in Ron the unrelenting guilt that she felt for sending her mum and dad to Australia; she felt like _she_ had been the one who had sent them to their deaths. Without thinking, Ron had scoffed at that suggestion and insensitively blundered on to say that she was stupid to think that.

"So, you think I'm stupid, do you?" she had snapped at him, nettled. It didn't take much for her to lose her temper at the moment.

"No, 'course not," Ron had hastened to say, looking alarmed at the girl's reaction. "I didn't mean it like that, 'Mione, honest – "

Hermione stiffened at the name. "_Don't you dare call me that!" _she had then cried. Her parents had used that particular fond nickname for her and to hear it being used by someone other than them was surprisingly painful beyond belief.

Hermione felt hurt that Ron didn't understand the way she felt and angry that he had thoughtlessly belittled her point of view. Perhaps it really had been a careless slip of the tongue on his part – and perhaps she had overreacted - but it had upset her all the same. Emotions running high, this had, not for the first time, led to a blazing row between the pair and Hermione, despite Harry and Ginny's attempts to pacify her, left the Burrow. One of the things that Hermione had inherited from her parents was a small property down in the West Country which they had used from time to time as a holiday home, and she was grateful for the little stone-built cottage for it was the perfect sanctuary for her to escape to and recuperate. Using the same Extension Charm she had performed for that long and seemingly impossible quest of finding the Horcruxes, Hermione had packed up both her and some of her parents' belongings and Apparated to the raggedly beautiful Cornish coastline on which the little cottage was situated.

The cottage itself sat on a cliff top which overlooked a little beach sheltered by the surrounding rocks; it was there where Hermione now stood, her arms wrapped around herself against the cool breeze. Save for the rushing sound of the sea and the cries of seagulls, it was a peaceful place and Hermione revelled in it, in the tranquillity and sereneness of it. One of her new favourite pastimes was to simply take a stroll along the sandy beach at the water's edge in the early morning. She preferred it at this time when the beach was empty and free from holidaymakers. It allowed her to think and mull over things undisturbed as she was doing now.

Another rumble of thunder reverberated from above, though much louder this time. Hermione looked towards the heavens at the sound, and upon seeing how threatening the black clouds looked, contemplated turning back to her inherited cottage before it poured down with rain. She paused only to watch a flock of birds – geese, by the look of them – fly in a triangular formation towards the south, no doubt migrating to warmer climes. Hermione felt a twinge of longing and envy as tears began to well involuntarily in her brown eyes. Oh, how she wished she could fly away with those geese...

Swiping at her eyes impatiently to rid them of her tears, Hermione was just about to make her way back to the cottage when something caught her eye. Lying in the surf a few yards away was a dark shape. So lost in her thoughts, she had been taking little notice of her surroundings and so hadn't spotted it before. Her first thought was that it was some poor unfortunate animal which had been washed ashore, like a seal or the like.

As Hermione approached it, however, she was shocked to see it was in fact a human figure lying inert on the sand. Hermione's heart skipped a few beats in revulsion; she had seen enough dead bodies to last her two lifetimes and she had no desire to see any more, but there was a chance this poor soul was still alive so she hurried forwards. It was a man lying spread-eagled on his back and apparently unconscious. Hermione let out a small gasp when she noticed that several feet of the wet sand around him was stained crimson with blood, and the sleeve of his jacket, too, was absolutely soaked in it.

Hermione turned her gaze to the unconscious man's face and with a shock of recognition, let out yet another poorly disguised gasp of surprise and her heart did a somersault. It was a face which had constantly haunted her dreams... It was a face that she had never expected to see ever again...

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><p>"<em>Feels so good being bad<br>There's no way I'm turning back  
>Now the pain is my pleasure<br>Cause nothing could measure  
>Love is great, love is fine<br>Out the box, out of line  
>The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more<br>Cause I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it  
>Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it<br>Sticks and stones may break my bones  
>But chains and whips excite me... " <em>

**Rihanna, "S&M"**

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><p><em>Fate<em> _was_ _such a bitch_, Scabior thought to himself sourly as he ran full-pelt over the leaf-strewn ground somewhere in the Forest of Dean, before ducking behind a wide tree trunk to avoid a curse sent his way. It was just so bloody ironic. All these months spent snatching and interrogating fugitive Muggle-borns, truants and blood traitors, and now it was _he _who was the one being hunted down. Bloody ironic, that's what it was.

In the few months that had followed Harry Potter defeating the Dark Lord, the newly elected Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had dished out orders that any followers of Voldemort and/or those who worked for those followers, were to be arrested and tried. Finding himself on the list for wanted wizards and having absolutely no desire at all to return to Azkaban any time soon, Scabior had gone on the run, along with many of his fellow Snatchers – those who had been smart enough to hoodwink the Aurors so far, at least.

If somebody had asked him which side he supported, he would have quite honestly have said, "Neither." Scabior was on nobody's side, only his own. His allegiance lay with the highest bidder at the time, be it the Death Eaters or the Order of the Phoenix, it didn't really matter which. He quite honestly couldn't give a rat's arse who won in the end just so long as he got paid for his work. Scabior did not have anything against Muggle-borns personally; he had met many a talented witch or wizard who had no magical background in their families. But being a Snatcher, however, had been enormously satisfying to him. It appealed to his love for freedom, the thrill of the chase, of the great outdoors – he was not one for being stuck behind a desk in some poxy office. But best of all, it appealed greatly to his love of gaining the rewards that followed afterwards. Scabior did so _love _getting rewarded. But all that had changed now...

He was pulled out of his thoughts back to his present situation as a spell from a random Auror hit the other side of the tree he was hiding behind. He heard the bark on the tree snap and crackle at the curse's impact, and without further ado, launched himself forward to continue running, thinking that the bark could very easily have been his head.

"Over there!" a voice of one of the Aurors rang out somewhere from behind him. "One went your way – head him off!"

Scabior expertly dodged his way through the trees, narrowly missing a Stunning spell, though not before he sent one back himself. He was in his element; this was what he was best at. This was why that pink-wearing, toad-faced hag with that annoying simpering voice at the Ministry had singled him out and appointed him the leader of the Snatchers – because of his unrivalled speed and agility. It didn't take much to shake off the berk who was pursuing him as he plunged further into the woods that he knew and was so familiar with like the back of his hand. He figured that once he was well out of the Aurors' range, he could lose himself in a clump of trees and then Disapparate, and they wouldn't be any the wiser of where he had gone. That was the theory anyway...

When he was confident that nobody seemed to be following him, Scabior slowed little by little, his heart racing and adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Sweeping some loose strands of dark hair away from his face, he came to a halt and looked around but he couldn't see any sign of either the Aurors or any fellow runaways. Not that he particularly cared what had become of those wizards.

Before he could even contemplate his next move, however, he suddenly heard the telltale snap of a twig from straight ahead. He froze, waiting to see if it was just a fox or something. But his moment's hesitation cost him greatly. All of a sudden, he was surrounded on all sides by a cluster of wizards.

_Bollocks!, _he thought angrily, cursing his stupidity.

Some of the Aurors obviously must have Apparated ahead to surround him and prevent him from going any further. It was the oldest trick in the book – a ploy he and his own gang of Snatchers used to pull. He should've foreseen that, he should've known better and the thought made him inwardly snarl with annoyance. Scabior's grey eyes flew around the circle of Ministry wizards, trying to suss out any weak points but they were advancing on him, wands raised at the ready, not breaking ranks. They had him cornered like a rat in a trap...

"There's nowhere left for you to run anymore, Snatcher," one of the Aurors told him, a burly-looking man dressed in royal blue robes. "You may just as well come quietly to the Ministry and we'll see that you're treated fairly... "

_Translation: come quietly and we'll chuck you straight back in Azkaban, is more like it, _Scabior thought to himself bitterly. And there was no way on this green earth that he was going back to that hell-hole again, no matter how much he pretended to his peers that his experience in the prison hadn't affected him.

Shooting them all a sarcastic smile, Scabior said, "As temptin' as tha' invitation is, gen'lemen... I'm afraid tha' I cannot accept... I'll be seein' you... "

He brought two fingers up to his temple in a mock salute and made to turn on the spot to Disapparate, not before he heard the shouts of, "Someone grab him – don't let him get away!"

As Scabior felt the familiar sensations of being compressed in some sort of tight container which was associated with Disapparition, he inwardly smirked at the thought of once again thwarting those idiots at the Ministry and escaping from right under their noses. His triumph was short-lived, however, when he felt the rough grip of one of the other Aurors as they grabbed a hold of his left arm.

Desperate, he tried elbowing the unwanted passenger in the face, struggling with all his might to shake him off but the bastard was persistent and refused to give in. It was only after Scabior used a Revulsion Jinx on the other wizard was he at last forced to relinquish his hold on him. Scabior concentrated all his thoughts on a different destination though not before experiencing a sudden excruciating pain in his left shoulder. Trying his best to ignore it for the moment, he focused all his energy on getting to his intended destination... then everything went dark...

He landed on his back on a semi-soft surface, breathing hard as if he had just run a marathon. Judging by the sudden smell of salt air that scratched at his nostrils and the sound of crashing waves and distant cries of seagulls, he had made it to the place he had intended. The terrible pain he had felt in his shoulder returned in full measure now and he swore aloud at the feeling. So intense was the agony, he couldn't even find the strength to move. His right hand reached up instinctively to grasp at the spot where it hurt and Scabior couldn't help but let out a grunt of anguish. Staring down at his hand, he saw that it was drenched scarlet. Blood... His own blood... Scabior realised what had happened: he had Splinched himself. _Bloody hell, how embarrassin'..._ He hadn't gotten himself Splinched since he was seventeen when he had first passed his test. He chanced a glance down at his shoulder and could see that the sleeve of his leather jacket was soaked and already the blood was seeping into the sand beside him.

Scabior made an attempt to sit up only to be rewarded with a particularly harsh stab of pain in his arm and he collapsed back onto the sand, letting out a string of well-chosen profanities as he did so. He was highly grateful that he wasn't with the other Snatchers, they wouldn't have let him live this down; he hated feeling so vulnerable and pathetic. But after another stubborn yet fruitless attempt of getting up and falling back down onto the ground, Scabior had to grudgingly admit to himself that if he didn't get help from someone soon, he was a goner.

The pain now reaching a point where it was becoming unbearable, Scabior felt himself succumb to the blackness creeping in on his brain and promptly passed out. Little did he realise that when he next awoke, he would find himself in the care of a certain beautiful witch with whom he'd been obsessing over for weeks...

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><p><em>So how was it? Good? Crap? Please let me know, I'll really appreciate it, lovelies! ^-^ <em>


	2. Chapter 2

_WOW! Fourteen reviews on my first chapter? *faints from the shock* I've never had that many reviews for the first chapter alone, thank you SO, SO much, guys! :D I can't tell you how much your comments mean to me as I do lack a lot of self confidence. Boy, I'm feeling the pressure now to live up to all your expectations... *grins nervously* _

_Shout-outs to: Scabiorcansnatchme, MichelleRae, FreakOfNatureStuckInReality, scabiorxxx, thestoneroses, Morsmordrae, cupcakes and commodores, Tentacion Prohibidia, Smithback, Coconut Coral, theundyinglands, disguisedrobot, lily-evans=tiger-lily & SnatchMeHard. You are all amazing, I love you so much! XD And big thank you to those who've added to faves/alerts, it's all appreciated! _

_Hope you enjoy and please don't forget to review! _

_Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Scabior... But maybe if I put on my ruby slippers and click my heels three times... *click, click, click* Damn. I got nothing. _

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><p><strong>Forever Autumn :: Chapter Two <strong>

"_Cold late night so long ago  
>When I was not so strong you know<br>A pretty man came to me  
>Never seen eyes so blue<br>I could not run away  
>It seemed we'd seen each other in a dream<br>It seemed like he knew me, he looked right through me  
>"Come on home, girl" he said with a smile<br>"You don't have to love me yet  
>Let's get high awhile<br>But try to understand, try to understand  
>Try, try, try to understand<br>I'm a magic man." ... "_

**Heart, "Magic Man" **

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><p><em>This is impossible! <em>Hermione's mind screamed. _How could he be here? _

She wasn't entirely sure how long she stood there on the beach for; her head was reeling with shock at the fact that _he _was here... Her Snatcher... Did he _know _that she was here? _But how _could_ he have known_? She argued with herself. Or was it just pure coincidence? Either way, she supposed it did not really matter. All that mattered was that he was _here_.

Hermione was brought back to reality with a sharp bump as she realised that the man in question was indeed still bleeding profusely from his left shoulder, and she cautiously bent forwards to investigate. It appeared that he had Splinched himself. She suddenly had a strange feeling of déjà vu; she recognised the symptoms well from when Ron had gotten Splinched after their escape from the Ministry. She looked around the beach hopelessly to see if there was any sign of other people, but the long expanse of sand which stretched away into the distance was completely deserted. The strong, metallic smell of the blood was quite overwhelming and Hermione had to take several gulps of air to stop herself from retching. She wanted so much to help him but... something was holding her back. This was the man who had willingly turned her and her friends over to the Death Eaters... left her at the torturing hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. _But he had only been doing his job, _she tried convincing herself, not for the first time. She wondered that if the boot was on the other foot, if he had found her on the beach like this, would he have helped her? Revulsion and uncertainty battled fiercely in her head with compassion but it was her compassion in the end which triumphed. She had to help him, she couldn't just leave him there on the sand to bleed to death. By the looks of him, he seemed to have lost a great deal of blood already.

Mind made up, Hermione looked warily around once more to make sure there were no prying Muggle eyes around, then took her wand from her jeans pocket and concentrated hard. Her magic had been behaving very erratically as of late which had frustrated her greatly. But she remembered reading once before about a witch or wizard's powers being affected by an emotional upheaval. But luck seemed to be on her side as she managed to conjure a stretcher to lay him upon and with a Hover Charm, managed to float him back towards the cottage, not before removing the stains of blood from the sand so as to not attract any unwanted attention from curious passersby.

Her newly-acquired cottage was one of those quirky "upside-down" properties; the bedrooms and bathroom were on the ground floor whilst the kitchen and living area was on the first. Hermione was grateful for the fact that she didn't need to traipse up the stairs with a full-grown body. After setting him down in the smallest bedroom, she dashed straight to the bathroom to search frantically in her first aid box. When she found what she was looking for, Hermione grabbed the little brown bottle labelled _Essence of Dittany _and a roll of bandages,and hurried back to her Snatcher. With some difficulty she managed to extract him from his leather jacket and the vest underneath, vaguely aware that she had fantasized something along these lines – except her fantasies hadn't of course involved him bleeding to death. She couldn't help but gaze, transfixed for a moment at the lean but finely sculpted chest which lay beneath his clothes...

"Focus, Hermione! Focus!" she scolded herself in a mutter, blushing to the roots of her hair and returning to the task at hand.

Grimacing at the horrible sight of his arm which now bore similar resemblance to something in a butcher's window, Hermione poured a few drops of Dittany onto the open wound with shaking hands. Immediately, the bleeding stopped and the skin began to heal itself a little. She still didn't feel very confident with healing spells and seeing how temperamental her magic seemed to be these days, Hermione didn't dare try anything else in case she inflicted any further damage. Letting out a shuddery sigh of relief that she had managed to fix the worst of his wound, she began wrapping bandages around his shoulder. As she worked, Hermione took this opportunity to study him properly.

He didn't look any different than when she had last seen him - from his tangled mess of dark brown hair with that characteristic single red streak, to his curious and quirky choice of clothing. The only thing that was different was the missing red arm band which he had worn which told the world he was a Snatcher; the other difference was him being sprawled unconscious on the bed like this made him look so decidedly vulnerable and helpless. He seemed... strangely small... lost... But what on earth was he doing _here _of all places, and all alone? How had he gotten himself into this state?

Before she knew it, Hermione found her thoughts wandering back to the time when she had first clapped eyes on him...

_... Flashback ... _

_Hermione stood frozen on the spot, completely petrified to make a move in case it betrayed her presence, waiting for them to pass. They had nearly disappeared into the trees on the other side of the clearing and she thought for a moment all would be well. That is until one of them suddenly paused. _

"_What's tha'?" _

_To her utter horror, he turned and walked back a few paces, stopping directly in front of her but just outside the protective enchanted wall. She was confident that he wouldn't be able to see or hear her, but still she held her breath and stood stock still. _

"_What's tha' smell?" she heard him mutter, his voice slightly distorted from behind the barrier. _

_She watched him inhale sharply a few times, like he was drinking in the air around him. What was it that he could smell? Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. Her perfume! He could smell her perfume! Hermione wanted to kick herself. The perfume had just been some little thing, a little keepsake from her mother. She wasn't a vain girl and never had been, but it was the only item she carried with her that made her feel remotely feminine... remotely _human_. How could she have been so careless? She would've expected a mistake like this from the boys but not her. Not sensible, logical Hermione. _

_She raised her eyes to look back at the man and found herself unconsciously studying him. She took in his tangled mess of hair, his ruggedly handsome face which was bathed in moonlight, and it seemed to make his skin glow in an almost ethereal way. His high cheekbones and strong jaw line were peppered with stubble and his eyes... Oh, Merlin's beard, his eyes... They were the most beautiful pair of eyes she had ever seen. Were they blue or grey – or a bit of both? It was hard to tell in this dim light. He stood a good head taller than she, and his... _interesting _choice of attire hugged at his tall, lithe frame in all the right places. Despite of herself, Hermione thought he looked... sexy. Oh God, what was wrong with her? This man was undoubtedly dangerous and all she could think about was how gorgeous he looked in those form-fitting plaid trousers... _

_As though her eyes were following her train of thought, Hermione found herself gazing downwards... Her breath was caught in her throat, her skin was tingling all over, and her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest, she wouldn't have been at all surprised if he could hear it. Then without warning, she felt a great rush of warmth develop between her loins. What was happening to her? She had never experienced something like that before, and she could only deduce that it was all down to the sight of this delectably handsome man standing before her. A virgin she may have been at this time but Hermione wasn't at all ignorant of the ways of the world. But no one had ever made her feel like this, not even Viktor. She tried to mentally pull herself together. It was just her raging teenage hormones that were getting the better of her, that was all. That paired with having virtually no contact with the outside world. _

_After what seemed like an eternity, the Snatcher became distracted by his crew and his attention was pulled back to them. Sarcastic words were exchanged and the group moved on, leaving Hermione to let out the breath she'd been holding, trembling like a leaf... a shaking and hormonal mess. Her knees buckled slightly and it was all she could do to keep standing. _

"_Snatchers," spoke a voice from beside her, and she started slightly but relaxed when she saw it was Harry. "Good to know your enchantments work." _

_Hermione turned back to stare into the trees at the spot where the handsome Snatcher had disappeared. "He could smell it... my perfume," she said hoarsely, faintly surprised she was able to utter a single sound at all._

"_Hermione, are you alright?" Harry asked in concern. She could only nod tremulously. "C'mon back to the tent... it's freezing out here." As the two trudged back down towards their little camp, Harry said in an undertone, "We'll have to keep moving if there're Snatchers hanging around." _

"_But Ron won't be up to it yet, he's still very weak," Hermione protested. "Besides, my enchantments will hold – " _

"_I can't afford to waste any more time, Hermione," answered Harry with a tone of finality. _

"_I _told_ you, Ron isn't strong enough to Apparate," she argued. _

"_Well then, we'll go on foot." _

_But Hermione was determined to change her friend's mind. It was indeed true that Ron had been weakened from being Splinched and wouldn't be strong enough to move on yet awhile, but she had an ulterior motive for wanting to linger here in the woods, even if it was just the one more night. For some reason she could not even explain to herself, she was hoping to see that strange but beautiful man again... _

_Hermione did manage to win the argument over staying there for another night, insisting that Ron needed just a little longer to recover. Thankfully, Ron did not raise any objections or say he was actually feeling better – but then since the previous evening, Ron did not have very much to say for himself at all. She could see that Harry wasn't entirely happy with this plan, but he agreed. She pondered how she could go out alone that next evening without arousing suspicion from the other two. She was handed a ready-made excuse, however, whilst they were having their dinner. Harry had managed to catch a fish from a nearby river and she had done her best at trying to make it at least a little edible. While Harry ate his without complaint, trying to be diplomatic about it, Ron, on the other hand, didn't hold back at making his opinion known of her less-than-satisfactory cooking. He grumbled and made snide remarks all evening, and Hermione glanced over to see it was his turn at wearing the Horcrux, which made him behave surly and unpleasant. Unable to take it anymore, she rose to her feet and grabbed a pan, muttering something about fetching some fresh water for the kettle. She resisted the temptation of hitting Ron over the head with the pan as she passed him. _

_She made her way quietly out into the clearing again, keeping her eyes and ears open for sounds of snapping twigs or crunching leaves which may herald the Snatcher's arrival. The rational part of her brain was screaming at her that this was too dangerous; what if she became careless and made a noise? She may not be as lucky as the night before. But she only wanted to have one more glimpse of him. Surely there was no harm in that? Was there? _

_Hermione stood just by the edge of the protective barrier, watching... waiting... She must have remained there a good fifteen minutes or so. Nothing. She wondered how long she could risk staying there without Harry or Ron venturing out to see where she had got to. Still nothing. Letting out a small sigh of disappointment, Hermione was about to turn back to the tent when she heard something. A soft, tuneless whistle. Her head whipped around at the sound, her heart thudding in her breast. It was him. She watched him saunter out of the shadows of the trees, looking for all the world as if he owned the place. Despite of herself, Hermione couldn't help but inwardly smile with joy that he was here again, and better yet, all by himself. His tuneless whistle faded into nothing as he slowly came to a halt by the edge of the clearing and she could tell that he was listening hard. Then he spoke quietly into the night. Again, the words were muffled a little by the barrier but in the silence, they carried quite clearly to where she stood. _

"_I know you're there, my lovely," he said in a sing-song voice, "even if I can't see you... Come out, come out, wherever you are... Why're you hidin' from ol' Scabior, eh?" _

_Scabior... Was that his first name or last? Or perhaps it was a nickname? Either way, it was nice to at last to put a name to that beautiful face. She watched as he began to pace the clearing, inhaling sharply every now and then, still listening with all his might, his keen eyes not missing a thing. She had the strange notion to want to run to him and delve her fingers into that scruffy but undoubtedly soft head of wild hair. She had the notion she wanted him to delve his fingers into certain places in her body too. _What? _She thought. _Where had _that_ come from? _But before Hermione could be overwhelmed by her sudden arousal again, a distant call pulled both her and the Snatcher called Scabior back to their senses. _

"_Oi, Scabior!" yelled a faint voice from the other side of the trees. "How long does it take for you to take a piss?" _

_She saw the Snatcher roll his eyes and give a snort of annoyance as if he'd been interrupted in something extremely important. Casting the apparently empty clearing with an almost longing expression, he muttered, "I will find you, my lovely... " before he turned and disappeared back into the trees. _

_When she, Harry and Ron left the next morning, Hermione had thought that was the last time she would see Scabior. Oh, how wrong she was... _

_After fleeing the Lovegood's house when Death Eaters had swooped down upon them all to capture them, she Apparated them back to a safe haven – the same wooded area where she had left her favourite pink scarf for Ron to find. Only it wasn't Ron who found it at all... It was _him... _Panicked but determined, the trio had run for their very lives, but despite their valiant efforts and Hermione's quick thinking of using a Stinging Jinx to disguise Harry, the Snatchers were highly skilled and extremely fast. It didn't take much for them to catch the three runaways up to surround and seize them. _

_Hermione could not help noticing the way those mesmerizing eyes of his remained fixed on her the entire time, not even bothering to acknowledge the presence of Ron. Only the sight of Harry's swollen features distracted him momentarily but his attention quickly returned to her. It was like he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Or was it just wishful thinking? _

"_And you, my lovely?" he had asked softly, bowing his head slightly. "What do they call you?" _

"_Penelope Clearwater," she answered, blurting out the first name that came to mind. "Half-blood," she added, trying to remain calm and control her racing heart and hormones at his sudden closeness. His breath tickled her skin pleasantly as he wrapped a lock of bushy hair around his fingers and sniffed. She was surprised to find he was exceedingly gentle. Had it not been for the man who was holding her arms behind her back, Hermione would've liked nothing better than to lean into his touch. But her attempt at masking Harry's identity from the Snatchers failed appallingly, when Scabior, seeming to put two and two together, pushed Greyback aside to study Harry's face and coming to the realisation that they had in fact caught the famous Harry Potter. _

_After the battle at Hogwarts, Hermione had often wondered what had become of her Snatcher. _Wait – what? _Since when had she suddenly started referring to him in her mind as "her Snatcher"? He must have been around there somewhere fighting, but never once did she spot him. In the battle's aftermath, she was one of the many who had volunteered to help in the search for survivors. But all Hermione could think about was _him... _What had happened to him? _How _had he affected her like this? _

_Neville, who was also assisting in finding any casualties, had proudly told her of his escapade on the bridge with an entire army of Snatchers. He couldn't resist going into every single, tiny little detail about it and Hermione who had smiled proudly, only half-listening, had suddenly shot up her head and stared at him with wide brown eyes. Neville's description of the leader of the Snatchers... He had... fallen? _

"_No, no, no... He can't have done, he just can't!" she had cried in distress to an absolutely bewildered Neville, and she had run as fast as she was able down the grassy slope to the great pile of rubble that had once been the bridge. _

_Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, along with Madam Pomfrey and many other students were also searching amongst the debris for any survivors. Hermione frantically checked through the array of bodies, stopping every now and then to stare into the lifeless face of Snatcher after Snatcher. She could not explain it, not even to herself, why she so desperately needed to know of his fate. But he was nowhere to be found... What did that mean? Was he still trapped underneath that ton of rubble that the Professors had yet to move? Or did it mean that he was possibly... ? Tears began to silently pour down her face and her heart ached at the thought at the possibility that he had indeed lost his life. _

"_Hermione?" asked the tentative voice of Neville. "What's the matter?" _

_She could only shake her head, unable to keep the onslaught of tears at bay, and Neville, thinking she was just overcome with shock at seeing all those dead bodies, had wrapped his lanky arms around her in comfort. The two stood there for a few minutes, waiting for Hermione's cries to quieten. Hiccupping slightly, Hermione wiped at her streaming eyes with her sleeve and gave Neville a watery smile. But then something caught her eye... She let out an almost inaudible gasp and tore herself out of Neville's arms and ran. _

"_Hermione?" Neville called but she didn't look back or answer. _

_She had run over to a small cluster of trees which were growing on the hillside nearby. Tied to one of the trunks, fluttering in the light breeze – almost as though someone was waving friendlily to her – was her pink scarf. _

_... End of Flashback ... _

Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly at this last memory. Sighing, she finished tying a neat knot on the bandages on Scabior's arm, when she was brought abruptly back to earth by a sudden voice.

"Are you goin' to kiss it better for me as well, there, beau'iful?"

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><p><em>So how was this chapter, my beautiful readers? I know not a lot happened in this one but next chapter will be from Scabior's perspective, I promise! ^-^ Hope you enjoyed it and please feel free to review, I'll love you forever! <em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello, my lovelies! I'm VERY VERY VERY VERY sorry for not updating in so long. I'm not dead, I assure you. Thank you so much for all your amazing comments, I seriously love you guys! You're the best! ^-^ I feel so bad I left it so long. _

_Time for shout-outs, so big thank you to: scabiorxxx, lily-evans=tiger-lily, SnatchMeHard, Smithback, theundyinglands, Cupcake Rose Princess, Tentacion Prohibidia, bassgoddess, Zaleone, FreakOfNatureStuckInReality, MichelleRae, kitty-kat-girlyyyxxx, sweettt, brooklynsam3, HP2011, Scabior's-Horcrux, ., JaneA0202, legolasgirl, Hermosura Mortifaga Snatcher, Opethjewel26, erikadeath, Helena Bright, supernaturalNUT. And anyone who has added to faves/alerts. Hugs and kisses to you all! XD _

_A chocolate frog to anyone who spots the 'Shrek' and 'The Lion King' reference in this chapter ^-^ Hope you enjoy and please don't forget to review! *runs and hides before readers can kill her for not updating sooner* _

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><p><strong>Forever Autumn :: Chapter Three <strong>

"_I never knew girls existed like you  
>But now that I do, I'd really like to get to know you<br>The girl's too young, she don't need any better  
>It's all coming back, I can feel it<br>The girl's too young, she don't know any better  
>It's all coming back, I can feel it<br>She is beautiful, she is beautiful  
>She is beautiful, she is beautiful<br>The girl is beautiful... " _

**Andrew W.K., "She Is Beautiful" **

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><p>When Scabior had regained consciousness, he thought for one wild moment that he had died and gone to heaven.<p>

True, his head was pounding like he'd had too much Firewhiskey and his shoulder was still hurting like hell, but nowhere near as badly as before. He was faintly aware that he was lying on something extremely comfortable – the most comfortable bed he'd been on in months. He breathed in deep the clean, crisp scent of the bed sheets he laid upon, savouring the luxurious aroma. Then when he opened his eyes hazily, he realised he was in a room of some kind which was completely unfamiliar to him. It was a small but friendly-looking bedroom. That ruled out the fact that the Aurors hadn't managed to capture him and he wasn't currently in some cell at Azkaban. But it was the vision of loveliness in front of him which made him believe for a few seconds that he was being greeted at the pearly gates by an angel. Or perhaps he had been sent to hell and some demon was tormenting him by taking on the image of the woman he so desired.

He blinked several times to rid the bleariness in his eyes. He saw no pearly gates. No demons. But there _was _someone else in the room with him...

_I don't bloody believe it, _he thought incredulously. _It _is_ her! _

The very witch whom he had let slip out of his grasp, no thanks to that crazy bitch, Bellatrix, and had thought little else of since the War had ended. Of all the people in the world to come to his rescue, it had to be _her. _What were the odds on that?

He watched her as she fixed some bandages on his shoulder; she seemed to be completely deep in thought over something as she worked, oblivious to the fact that he had woken up. At first glance, she didn't look all that different since the last time he saw her. However, the more he studied her, the more he noticed little differences. Her face looked pale and drawn; there were dark purple shadows beneath her eyes like she hadn't slept properly for a long time. He watched as a series of emotions played across her face. Scabior was greatly intrigued by the faint blush that crossed her cheeks, then after a few moments her eyebrows knitted together as though bothered by her musings. Then after a while, she smiled. It suddenly dawned on him that he had never actually seen her smile – albeit a rather sad, wistful smile - and he found he liked the sight very much.

But there was something else... the shine in her brown eyes was gone. They looked empty, shadowed, lifeless. Like someone had switched off a lamp from behind them. They were full of sadness. For some reason, unbeknownst to himself, Scabior longed to know what it was that caused such sadness and was filled with the desire to hex whoever it was responsible for allowing the light of his angel to be extinguished. As she let out a sigh, he thought it was about time to let his presence be known.

"Are you goin' to kiss it better for me as well, there, beau'iful?"

She started violently and let out a little yelp of shock; she stood up abruptly, accidentally upsetting the little bottle of Dittany, those gorgeous deep brown pools of hers becoming the size of dinner plates. With his free right arm, Scabior deftly caught the Dittany before it hit the floor, though he kept his eyes fixed on hers.

"Well, well... Fancy seein' you again... _Penelope,_" he said, uttering the last part of his sentence a tad sarcastically.

"How long have you been awake?" she demanded after a beat, once she had managed to find her voice.

"Long enough," he answered simply, making an attempt of sitting up but his shoulder throbbed horribly and he winced.

"Try not to move too much," she told him. "You've lost a lot of blood... "

Was that ... _concern_ in her tone? Scabior seriously did not understand this strange little bird, and not for the first time. She should have been hating him, wishing him nothing but ill after what he had done to her and her friends... not nursing him like some wounded stray dog. He glanced down at his bandaged shoulder and then his semi-clothed state and couldn't help but smirk and say,

"Couldn't wait 'til bedtime to get me undressed then, could you, sweetheart?"

She narrowed her eyes coldly at him.

"I could've just left you on that beach, you know," she said bitingly, trying to make it sound like his cheeky but suggestive question hadn't flustered her but the pink tinge in her cheeks gave her away. "I could've just walked the other way and left you to bleed to death... but I didn't. You could be a little more grateful."

"I _am _grateful, my lovely. Look at me, I'm _oozing_ gratefulness here... Here, tell you what...," he added with a smirk, his eyes lighting up a little, "why don't you come over here and I'll _show _you how _grateful _I am - "

"Don't even try it!" Hermione hissed at him angrily.

Scabior chuckled. Ignoring her hardened expression, his eyes swept around the little bedroom. "Where are we, anyway?" he asked her.

"Cornwall," she answered. "Just near Perranporth. This is my paren – I mean – it's _my _cottage," Hermione corrected herself. She had been about to say that it was her parents' cottage but of course, since their deaths, this was no longer the case.

"So... it's just you here... " Scabior said, more of a statement than a question, eyeing her intently.

"Yes... just me... " she murmured a little sadly.

The corner of Scabior's mouth curved up into yet another smirk.

"Just you and me...all alone in this cottage... Oh, beau'iful, think of all the fun and games we could get up to, eh? "

Hermione bristled. She was in no mood and in no fit state –both mentally and physically - to deal with his suggestive remarks at the moment.

"Is your shoulder still hurting?" she asked, rising to her feet and regarding him coldly from her superior height.

"Yeah... "

"Good!"

She turned on her heel and marched out of the bedroom, banging the door shut behind her. Scabior shook his head slightly, still scarcely believing that it was _Hermione Granger's _roof that he was now under. It wasn't long before his thoughts wandered back to that fateful moment in the woods...

_... Flashback ... _

_Scabior was bored. Absolutely bloody bored stiff. This was the fifth night in a row where he and his team of Snatchers had had no luck whatsoever with finding any runaway Mudbloods. Tonight was the first time where they'd had any success but the pair they had caught hadn't exactly presented a challenge. Scabior, Greyback and the rest had surrounded a young couple's tent and had caught them easily without so much as a chase or a struggle. Just a couple of Stunning spells and the job was pretty much done. Tedious. Boring. _

_However, it was the trek back to their base camp when things had turned decidedly _much_ more interesting. _

_As Scabior sauntered along, something caught his attention. The most delightful and intoxicating smell was wafting through the night air towards him. He halted in his tracks and doubled back to the spot where he could smell it strongest... Flowers... vanilla...something fruity... This was certainly not a fragrance you would find in a forest full of the smell of pine resin. No... this was a scent of a woman... _

_That smell reminded him of soft summer days and hot sultry nights. Oh, the memories that that had stirred... _Breasts and sweat and long, dry grass..._ When was the last time he'd had a good, proper shag? The last time he'd sought release between a woman's thighs? This job of snatching people had made that certain pleasurable pastime a rarity, as he was not a fan of visiting prostitutes unlike his other comrades. To him, women were like butterflies: colourful, exotic creatures that fluttered briefly into his life – and his bed – and back out again. The time spent with them was fleeting and instantaneous. Scabior inhaled the heavenly scent into his lungs, wishing he could stay there and lose himself in it, to wallow in it forever... She was close by, he was certain of it. There was fear and arousal mingled in with that smell as well, and the thought alone made him grow hard._

_He was rudely interrupted when the youngest of the Snatchers, Samuel, dropped the body he was carrying onto the ground. _

"_What you doin'?" he shot at him, annoyed he'd had to be pulled back to reality. _

"_It's heavy," Samuel complained. _

"_Oh, I'm sorry, do you want me to carry it?" asked Scabior sarcastically. Samuel looked relieved. _

"_Yeah, thanks – " he started, missing the sarcasm. _

"_Don't be ridiculous. Pick it up!" Scabior ordered, strutting off into the trees and shaking his head at the young Snatcher as he made to gather up the man's limp form. "Numpty," Scabior muttered, to which Greyback chuckled appreciatively. _

I'm surrounded by idiots, _Scabior thought to himself. He wondered why on earth he had to be lumbered with such dimwits. Apart from his speed, Samuel had little else going for him. The others, like Scabior, were only doing this as a means to an end. Greyback... Well, Scabior quite frankly thought the bloke was an absolute nutter. Biting people for the fun of it? The guy was sick. But it was only his own wariness of the werewolf that kept Scabior from actually saying anything to his face. _

_He was intent on returning to that place. So, that next evening, when most of the other Snatchers apart from Greyback had fallen asleep, he made to leave their base camp - alone this time – as nonchalantly as possible. _

"_Where _you _going?" Greyback demanded from his seat as Scabior passed him. _

"_To the little boy's room, you nosy git," retorted Scabior. "Be right back... " _

_Scabior left the camp and after a while, could hear nothing but the sounds of the forest and the crunch of leaves beneath his boots. He retraced the path that he and his fellows had taken yesterday, and it wasn't long before that bewitching smell reached him once again. He reached that same clearing from the night before; the scent was much stronger. She was here, he knew it. He closed his eyes, drinking the scent in... letting it fill him up... It was like nothing else in the world existed... _

"_Oi, Scabior! How long does it take for you to take a piss?" he heard Greyback shout from the distance. _

_That bloody wolf. He didn't half know how to pick his moments. Casting the empty clearing one last look, he returned to the camp. She had been watching him, he just knew it. _

_For many weeks, Scabior obsessed over his mystery woman with her intoxicating scent. He thought it highly unlikely he was going to see her again, but that didn't stop him thinking about her. Actually, 'thinking' about her didn't quite cover it. She _consumed _every thought in his head, like she was some sort of disease... a drug. The thrill of Snatching didn't possess him like it used to. Sure, he went through the motions whenever they caught up with a victim, but his heart wasn't really in it. His colleagues had noticed the difference in him but knew better than to ask or comment as to why their leader had suddenly lost his desire for Snatching. _

_Until the day he found that scarf tied to a tree. Her scarf. He knew it was hers. Her scent was all over it... _

_.:*:. _

_"Hello, beau'iful," he had said. _

_It was an automatic pet name he liked to use whilst flirting with women, but in this case he really meant it. She was truly stunning; she had nearly knocked him off his feet. Ignoring completely her two companions, he kept his eyes trained on her the whole time like a searchlight as she stumbled slightly, whipping her head round to see that she and her friends were surrounded. She turned back to face him, her expression fearful but with a hint of defiance. _

"_This is the part where you run away... " Scabior growled at her. _

_He watched her scramble up the slope and begin to sprint through the trees. With her moment's faltering, he could quite easily have caught her there on the spot, but where was the fun or the challenge in that? _

_"Well, don't hang about! Snatch 'em!" he called lazily to his cronies, his eyes still on her quickly retreating back before joining in the chase himself. _

_Scabior had to admit that they were good. They were fast. But he knew it would only be a matter of time before the pace would tire them and then the Snatchers would have them. They ignored the trio's protests and her shouts of "Leave him alone!" when the redhead was struck in the stomach. _

"_Your boyfriend will get much worse than that," Scabior drawled, "if he doesn't... learn... to behave himself," he finished clearly, his blue eyes glittering as he gazed at her. He was distracted for a moment by her fellow runaway's face. "Bloody hell... I'll need Butterbeer to wash this one down... What happened to you, ugly?" When Greyback looked round at him with a glare, he added, "No, not you." He turned back to the boy. "Well?" Scabior demanded. "What happened to you?" _

"_Stung. Been stung," the lad answered. _

"_Yeah, looks like it. What's your name?" _

"_Dudley. Vernon Dudley." _

"_Check it," Scabior ordered Samuel, who fished in his jacket pocket for the Ministry's checklist. Scabior returned his gaze back to the beautiful witch. He watched her breathing harshly, trying in vain to loosen her captive's hold on her, hissing "Get off me!" at him. Scabior smirked. He liked them when they were feisty. _

"_What about you, Ginger?" Greyback was asking the red-headed boy who was sprawled on the forest floor, pinned down by a booted foot. _

"_Stun Shunpike," came the slightly thick reply. _

"_Like hell you are," Scabior said impatiently. "We know Stan Shunpike, he's put a bit of work our way." When the Snatcher pinning him down kicked the boy in the stomach, he wheezed out some other name. _

"_A Weasley?" rasped Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly... " Scabior's hackles raised immediately when he saw the werewolf turn his attention to the witch. "... your pretty little friend here... " Scabior did not like his tone at all. She was _his_. She had been since the first time he'd smelt her perfume in the woods. _

"_Easy, Greyback," he told the werewolf warningly as the other Snatchers jeered. _

"_Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet... " _

"_I said _back off," _Scabior snarled at him, glaring daggers at the half breed. He approached the shaking witch and spoke in a much gentler tone like she was a terrified horse he was trying to pacify. "And you, my lovely... what do they call you?" _

"_Penelope Clearwater. Half-blood," she said clearly and quickly. A bit _too _quickly. _

_She was lying. Scabior knew that. All the braver ones lied about their names. He bent closer to breathe in once again that intoxicating scent of hers and delighted at the sound of her quickening breath. He ran a finger down her cheek briefly and smirked when he saw her shiver under his touch. She was so beautiful. And so innocent. For some reason he could not explain, Scabior wanted so much to preserve that innocence. _

_At the realisation that they had in fact caught the famous Harry Potter along with his fellow travellers, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, the cogs in Scabior's mind were working furiously. Merlin knew how many Galleons they would get for capturing Potter alive. Perhaps if he played his cards right, he might just get to keep the beauty as a reward. _

"_Change of plan, lads," Scabior murmured, gazing at the lightning scar on Potter's swollen forehead. "We're not taking this lot to the Ministry... " _

_.:*:. _

_After that crazy Lestrange woman had thrown him and his colleagues out of Malfoy Manor, Scabior was fuming. He had come away from there completely empty-handed after Bellatrix had gone absolutely mad after she had laid eyes on the sword Samuel was carrying. He had no idea what that had been all about, nor did he much care. _

"_So, what now?" Greyback grunted at him as they began to trudge down the gravel driveway. _

_But Scabior was spared an answer when high, petrified screams echoed from back inside the manor. Scabior knew immediately that it was _hers. _It was too high-pitched, too terrified, too _human _a sound to come from Bellatrix. His angel was being tortured and he let out a snarl of possessiveness and – oddly enough – protectiveness. Part of him was sorely tempted to run back in there and just grab her and go. But no. If Bellatrix was on a torturing spree, he did not fancy his chances. She was an extremely powerful witch; he was no match for her. Her nifty spell work earlier proved that. But Scabior was not going to give up on Hermione Granger that easily. He would bide his time. He wanted her. He wanted her and by Merlin, he'd have her. _

_... End of flashback ... _

Scabior shook his head slightly, a crooked smile forming on his face as he thought of these memories. He had no idea what lay in store for him whilst being in the care of Hermione Granger, but he was ready to bet that it was going to be interesting nonetheless.

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed this chapter, my gorgeous readers! Again, I am SO SO sorry for such a long time between updates! I only hope I haven't lost you all D: Did anyone spot the 'Shrek' and 'Lion King' reference? Although I have a basic idea of how this story is going to play out, do feel free to shoot any ideas my way, I'll see what I can do with them. ^-^ Until next time, my lovelies and please don't forget to review! It's all appreciated. Thankies! Xx <em>


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